


This is a place where I don't feel alone

by AutumnHobbit



Series: I can't think up a good name for this [5]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Bit more than canon-typical language, Family, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sort-of fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 16:08:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7808386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnHobbit/pseuds/AutumnHobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The doorbell rings.</p><p>His head snaps up instantly. He never has visitors--why would he? That means that it's either one of his insane family members or someone of even worse motives than coming to insult him or plead with him to come home. He snatches one of his guns from one of the drawers and checks to make sure it's loaded and the safety is still on, and he creeps slowly toward the door. He leans up and checks the peephole, and nearly falls over.</p><p>Alfred is standing in the hallway, a pot covered in a brightly colored warmer in his hands. He looks as completely relaxed as he always does, as if he visits Jason every weekend and has tea. He glances around the hallway disinterestedly, like he's just waiting for Jason to open the door.</p><p>This is probably a trap, or some nutty plot cooked up by Dickie and the Replacement to bring him back into the fold. Maybe Bruce sent him to chew Jason out (again.) All those thoughts fly through Jason's head, but his hands are unlocking the door and throwing it open without his consent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is a place where I don't feel alone

**Author's Note:**

> In typical me-fashion, I tried desperately to write an installment to this series--even going so far as to write out a probably several thousand word story which I wound up hating every single bit of and resolved to rewrite it--and then today I randomly had feelings and wrote this out in like two hours. Yay, hormones!  
> Anyway, Idk if it's good or anything. I sort of delved into my personal feelings about Bruce's no-kill code; honestly saying that lethal force is *never* an option kind of weirds me out, and I feel like lives-in-Gotham Bruce of all people should know that sometimes you have to take permanent action...and anyway, he really shouldn't reject his own son because of it. But that's just me.  
> Title is from To Build A Home by The Cinematic Orchestra.

Jason goes back to his apartment exactly a week after his and the other Robins' little showdown with Black Mask's drug army. Roy treated him like nothing had ever happened, joked and wisecracked as much as he always did, and Jason appreciated it more than he could say. His daughter--and _holy shit,_ was that weird and awesome--was a little sweetheart, and by the second day was calling him Uncle Jay, which made him smile in a really shaky way. He was honestly surprised that Cheshire let Lian be so cuddly with him, but even she was tolerable the entire time. It was--nice. And _weird._ And disorienting. He can't help but be relieved that he's alone again--but he feels oddly bereft, too.

He shakes his head and unlocks the apartment. The door creaks, as always, and the room smells musty and un-lived in. He sighs, stepping inside and shutting and locking the door behind him. He sinks down against the door and just breathes in the silence for a moment. Finally, he climbs carefully back to his feet, cringing slightly at the pull of the stitches in his stomach. Now that he thinks about it, he should probably take those out today.

He wanders into the kitchen and opens the fridge. There's generally hardly any food here even when he's living in the apartment, and now is no exception. There's an empty soda box, a couple sleeves of cheese, a jar or two of pickles and olives, and something in an aluminum foil covered bowl that he's not even going to look at. With another sigh-- _damn, he's doing that a lot lately_ \--he extracts a pickle from the jar and bites off the end without ceremony, holding it in his mouth for a second so he can pull his shirt off. He holds the half-eaten pickle with one hand and runs the fingers of his other hand lightly across the stitches. The Replacement does good stitches, he notes offhandedly; they're straight, neat, and clean. Probably will barely scar. He digs a pair of pliers out of one of the drawers and carefully plucks the stitches out, wincing as he does so. When he finishes, he cleans the wound off again with peroxide and fixes another bandage over it. He throws away the trash he's just accumulated and leans over the counter, heaving another sigh.

The doorbell rings.

His head snaps up instantly. He never has visitors--why would he? That means that it's either one of his insane family members or someone of even worse motives than coming to insult him or plead with him to come home. He snatches one of his guns from one of the drawers and checks to make sure it's loaded and the safety is still on, and he creeps slowly toward the door. He leans up and checks the peephole, and nearly falls over.

Alfred is standing in the hallway, a pot covered in a brightly colored warmer in his hands. He looks as completely relaxed as he always does, as if he visits Jason every weekend and has tea. He glances around the hallway disinterestedly, like he's just waiting for Jason to open the door.

This is probably a trap, or some nutty plot cooked up by Dickie and the Replacement to bring him back into the fold. Maybe Bruce sent him to chew Jason out (again.) All those thoughts fly through Jason's head, but his hands are unlocking the door and throwing it open without his consent.

 _"Alfred?"_ he breathes, still disbelievingly. The butler is alone in the hallway--a quick search shows it empty, which doesn't mean the Bat isn't hanging off the roof, but still--and Jason feels like he must be dreaming. Maybe his wound got infected or something.

But Alfred smiles his usual demure smile--completely nonplussed by Jason's shirtlesness, messy hair, bandages, and the gun in his hand. "Morning, Master Jason. May I come in?"

Jason blinks dumbly. "Uh. Sure. Sure! Uh...come on in." Jason steps aside almost as an afterthought, opens the door wider, and Alfred walks right in. He goes into the kitchen and sets the pot on the stove, taking off the warmer and turning one of the burners on to low. "I hope you don't mind, we had leftover beef stroganoff. I assumed you hadn't eaten lunch yet."

"No." Jason says a bit listlessly, mouth watering at the scent of the beef and cream sauce. It had been one of his favorite dishes when he'd first moved into the manor. Alfred had been more than happy to make it for him--he constantly fretted about Jason's weight. "Did..." Jason bites his lip, afraid of the answer. Alfred isn't facing him--he's stirring the pot on the stove, with a spoon that came from who-knows-where--but he glances back at Jason when he speaks. Jason takes a shaky breath. "...Did Dick send you?"

Alfred chuckles. "I don't know if _'send'_ is the right word, Master Jason. He _is_ worried about you," Jason feels familiar, stupid guilt churn in his stomach, "but I insisted that he tell me the location of your apartment. Rest assured, your brothers will not be dropping from the ceiling in an hour or two."

Jason isn't sure whether he's relieved or disappointed by that news. Yeah, his brothers-- _brother_ \--is a pain in his ass, but he did kind of leave him-- _them_ \--high and dry right after they hauled him to safety..."Why?" he asks, then shakes his head at himself. _Damn, his brain's screwed._

Alfred places the lid on the pot and turns around. "Why, because I wanted to see you, of course. You will forgive me for saying so, Master Jason, but at my age one doesn't get many chances to say 'hello' to their family. Especially after they thought they'd never see them again."

Jason swallows a sudden lump in his throat. He's not being condemned or scolded, but somehow he feels about two inches high.

Alfred smiles, but it's shakier now and Jason can see tears--shit, _tears_ \--in the old man's eyes. "So...if you don't mind, would you come here and give your grandfather a hug?"

Jason blinks disbelievingly. His heart lifts inside him, but he refuses to run even though he wants to do nothing else, forces himself to take steps--measured, careful, still way-faster-than-he-would-like steps--until he's right in front of the man who, out of all the family, he's probably regretted his actions toward the most.

Alfred frames Jason's face with his hands, and Jason realizes with a sudden jolt how much _taller_ he is than Alfred now, how he has to look down to look him in the eye. It feels wrong--Alfred had always seemed larger-than-life to him. But now, the older man's eyes are watery, and Jason feels the tears that he's been holding back for longer than he can remember starting to spill from his own eyes, too.

"Oh, my dear boy," Alfred breathes, brushes a stray strand of black hair back from Jason's eyes. "I'm so sorry." He wraps his arms around Jason's neck so suddenly it startles him, holds on tight. Jason returns the hug almost as an afterthought, his heart racing.

"It's okay, Alfred, it's okay. I never, ever blamed you for any of it, I swear." _I blame myself more, none of this should ever have happened, I never meant to hurt you..._

Alfred gives a watery laugh. "I've missed you, Master Jason."

Jason smiles through his own tears. "I missed you too." Only Alfred could get two truths out of him within five minutes of each other.

Alfred pulls back, just enough that he's facing Jason again, and he tilts his chin up with one hand. "I know the circumstances are not the best. And I am frankly outraged at your father. But...I am enormously grateful that you are alive, Master Jason."

Jason's heart hurts. Part of him is singing with joy that someone _cared_ , _someone missed him._ But he doesn't know what to say. _I'm glad someone is?_ He's not sure he can say that he is, yet. Not truthfully. He decides not to say anything at all, settles for giving Alfred a shaky smile. Alfred returns it, pats his cheek tenderly once more before dropping his hand. "It's getting on in the day, and you must be hungry." He eyes Jason with a fond but amused gaze. "Though perhaps you might get dressed first."

Jason glances down, and colors when he realizes he's still shirtless. "Back in a second, Alfie," he says awkwardly, ducks back to his room to grab a shirt. He hears Alfred chuckling gently behind him.  
  
___  
  
Jason can't remember the last time he'd eaten this desperately. He remembers when he first came to the manor he ate enough to make a serious dent in the food supply. He has a fairly clear memory of Bruce saying _'slow down, Jason, you're going to lose a finger,'_ in a wry, fond voice. As it is now, he's too aware of Alfred's presence to shove the beef in his mouth with his fingers. He does, however, scarf the noodles down as quickly as he can with a fork. Alfred seems too entertained by his reaction to be upset about his lack of table manners.

While Jason was putting a shirt on, Alfred had dug through the cabinets and found some tea that Jason had forgotten he had, put a kettle on, and unwrapped the cherry cobbler he'd also managed to smuggle in somewhere on his person. Now the two of them are sitting on Jason's frankly awesome set of sturdy guitar chairs--he may be cheap but even he won't waste money on rickety furniture, dammit--at the counter, because Jason doesn't actually have a dinner table. It's more comfortable than Jason's felt at any point in recent memory. Even though the majority of conversation is coming from Alfred. It's all (mostly) civilian stuff. Anecdotes about the new batbrats; Tim is probably too much of a goody two shoes to get on Alfred's ire. Damian, however, is apparently not. If he didn't know better, Jason would try to corner the little demon on patrol and chew him out for making Alfred's life harder, but Jason can hear the fondness in Alfred's voice. It's the same fondness that's directed towards Dick, Tim. _Himself._ As it is, Jason's too busy stuffing his face to add any conversation; plus, he has nothing to report. All of his days have been taken up by attacking the drug trade, getting shot at (and shot,) dragging himself back to the apartment to patch himself up and crash on the floor or the couch. And something tells him hearing that won't make Alfred happy, so he stays silent and listens to the latest wild stories Dick brought back from leading the team, or the latest thing the board at Wayne Enterprises has done to make Bruce's life miserable. He oughta send them flowers.

Alfred fixes Jason a generous helping of cobbler, somehow gets up and does all the dishes but the one Jason's currently using, and has everything put away by the time Jason finishes, his plate so thoroughly cleaned that he might as well just put it away. He doesn't, though, and sets it in the sink.

"I'd better be heading back to the manor," Alfred says briskly, checking his watch. "Master Bruce will be wondering where I've disappeared to."

Jason folds his arms over his chest. "What? He doesn't already know where I live?" He tries to stifle the hostility the mention of Bruce awoke, but he can tell by the sad look Alfred gives him that he didn't entirely succeed. He feels lower than dirt.

"He most certainly does, but I believe _he_ believes that he is giving you space."

"Yeah, sure." Jason snorts. "Whatever helps him sleep at night."

"You and I both know that he doesn't." Alfred says, a hint of displeasure in his tone. Jason cowers a bit, hangs his head and holds his arms around himself tightly. "And anyway, Master Jason, if you would like him to do something else, why not just tell him?"

"I _tried_ to talk to him," Jason says defensively.

"By 'tried,' you mean 'called him with a hostage threat,' I assume."

"As if _the Joker_ is a _hostage._ That's the problem, Alfred!" Jason snaps. "He showed more concern for that--that _monster_ than he did for me. He gave me this," he gestures sharply to the scar in his neck, "with a batarang, and then he dumped me off at _Arkham._ _With_ the Joker." Jason slumps back against the doorframe, feeling like he's just been beaten.

"Master Jason." Alfred says after a tense pause. "I have known Master Bruce for longer than any of you. He made many mistakes with you," Alfred's voice is grave, "and you made many mistakes approaching him. I really don't know what either of you were thinking." Jason cringes. Bruce's displeasure hurts, but Alfred's is worse. Mainly because he knows that he's right. "Master Bruce has managed to look past the obvious time and time again...but he does love you, Master Jason."

Jason wants to believe that. Really wants to--but also doesn't, because then he isn't justified, then it was all in his head and Bruce never really abandoned him and _he's_ the monster, not Bruce. As it is, his mind screams that Bruce doesn't love him, can't love him--he was a screw up even before, and then he came back wrong, he hurt innocents, broke Bruce's rule. That Bruce thinks he's a freak like the rest of the killers just because he's broken. That he always has been, Bruce had _always_ seen him as defective and wrong. Part of him screams _'You know he never loved you.'_ But then he remembers Bruce's smiles, his kindness, the furrow that showed between his eyebrows when Jason was hurt, his hand on Jason's shoulder, the gentle touch to his head when he rode in the passenger seat in the batmobile, and a smaller, stronger voice whispers, _'You knew.'_

"I know that it's hard to take on faith, and to be completely honest, you shouldn't have to." Alfred says, taking a step forward towards Jason. "But if not for your father's sake, then for my sake, and for your own...please, give him the chance to prove it to you, Master Jason. Can you do that?"

Jason blinks, and his eyes burn. He swallows carefully, and gives a small nod.

"That is all I can ask from you. That, and that you give your brothers that chance, too." Alfred stops in front of him. "You might believe you are, Master Jason, but you are not alone. We all care for you. If you don't want us, we will leave you be. But if you do...we'll wait. As long as you need." Alfred places his hand on Jason's forehead, traces down to his chin, smiles faintly at him. "Goodbye, Master Jason. Have a good day." With one last, gentle pat, Alfred turns and exits, gently shutting the door behind him.

Jason stands alone in his kitchen for a long time after Alfred leaves.  
  
___  
  
"Where were you earlier, Alfred?" Bruce asks as Alfred passes the batcomputer.

"Visiting Master Jason," Alfred says simply. He sets down the tray and begins setting up Bruce's dinner, even though he heard Bruce's fingers freeze above the keyboard. He brings the tray over and sets it down on the table beside the billionaire he thinks of as a son.

Bruce stays frozen for another long moment, glancing up at Alfred once before quickly looking down again. The uncertainty in the gaze reminds Alfred of the scared eight-year-old who'd lost his family, and despite his irritation at the man he still feels warmth and sorrow in his chest. It's a very common feeling around Bruce Wayne.

"How was he?" Bruce finally asks, almost inaudibly.

"As well as can be expected, I suppose. Alone and injured in an apartment with hardly any food in it." Bruce's shoulders slump further with every word he says.

"It's my fault." Bruce says brokenly.

"Why yes, yes it is." Alfred says. "I only wish you would _do_ something about that fact."

Bruce sighs. "What can I do, Alfred? He's _killed._ He turned his back on the code..."

 _"Master Bruce,"_ Alfred says sharply, and Bruce sits bolt upright without meaning to. "You know that I served in the British military long before I served you or your parents. I defended my country against those who would have been happy to see every quiet farm in the countryside burn. I took lives in that endeavor. While I regret that that action became necessary, I make no apology for it. Yet I still work here. I have still cared for you and your children for the past thirty years. Now, that may be because you simply cannot continue on without my assistance. Yet, when _your own child_ returned to you, _from the grave_ no less, you did not greet him with joy and welcome, as you should have. Instead, you saved the man who murdered him, and locked your son up along with him."

Bruce's expression is shocked, but it increasingly grows more and more horrified. "I..." He stammers. _"I didn't..."_

Alfred heaves a sigh. "Master Bruce..." he tries, tone more gentle now. "I know you love him. I would never doubt that. But..." Bruce blinks, swallowing hard, "...from Master Jason's point of view...he has no reason to believe _you_ do. And that leads him to wonder if you ever did."

Bruce says nothing, and Alfred sighs again. "Jason has made mistakes, but so have you. And if there is any hope of having this family whole again, both of you will have to decide what matters more to you. We must have some rules in life, Master Bruce. But are they really so important that you will turn your own son away if he comes to you?"

Bruce swallows hard, but doesn't shift his gaze from the computer screen. "Thank you for dinner, Alfred." he says quietly.

Alfred inclines his head sadly. "Of course, Master Bruce." _You and Jason are far too much alike,_ he thinks as he turns and leaves the cave.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr: http://autumnhobbit.tumblr.com/


End file.
